Mary Sue on the Lam
by Ski-Ming
Summary: Mary Sue has broken out of jail and is hiding in the Outsiders fandom. Now it's up to Mary Sue LaGreca of Atlantic City, New Jersey - sort of -, to save us all. Rated for language.
1. At the BWO

Mary Sue on the Lam_  
by Ski-Ming_

Disclaimer: _The Outsiders_ and all of its characters are the property of S.E. Hinton and various publishers and media distributors.

Author's notes: If you're looking for a thoughtful, funny, original, on-point look at Mary Sue in the Outsiders fandom, read "Sweet Potato Sunset" by Midori Cha. If you're looking for something stupid, read on. I don't even know what this is. This is just what happens when I get bored at work. Reviews are always welcome, although I'll probably just be updating this story for kicks. Apologies to the Dirty Jerz.

* * *

Look, let me explain something. I'm not Mr. Lebowski. You're Mr. Lebowski. I'm the Dude. So that's what you call me. That, or Duder. His Dudeness. Or El Duderino if, you know, you're not into the whole brevity thing –

– _The Big Lebowski_

* * *

**Chapter One**

It is a little-known fact that the thirteenth floor of the _New Yorker _office building contains a secret portal to a special dimension of literary hell known as the Bureau of Writing Offenses (or the BWO, to those in the know). To enter the BWO, one must know where the portal is located – it's behind the second-most withered ficus plant in the lobby of the thirteenth floor– and one must possess extraordinary moralistic literary character: only a Knight or Dame of the Order of St. Goodfic will survive the dangerous jolt in time and space to the BWO, and even then it is still extraordinarily unpleasant. Getting initiated into the Order involves performing a blood rite involving virginal goats, a review response from a fangirl in hysterics, a silver dagger, and an ampersand.

In short, accessing the special dimension of literary hell known as the BWO is slightly easier than getting a foot in the door at the _New Yorker _itself.

It is the sacred duty of the Order of St. Goodfic to guard all of literary creation from the perils of writing offenses ranging from minor infractions, such as spaces in between ellipses, to the most mortal and treacherous of all literary sins: |\ /\. Translated from the Sumerian (and you don't have a shot in Shoal at being ordained if you don't even know Sumerian), _Mary Sue_.

Mary Sue is kept in a maximum-security cell in the heart of the BWO fortress. Her most notorious accomplices, Poor Characterization and Disgustingly Anatomically Impossible Sex Scene, are guarded around the clock and aren't even allowed to step out for a bit of exercise in the prison yard (which is unfortunate, since Disgustingly Anatomically Impossible Sex Scene could use a lesson in how body parts work). The BWO also contains a correctional facility, where Purple Prose and Plothole are currently undergoing extensive reha-beta-tational therapy. But there is no hope of redemption for Mary Sue. In her solitary confinement, she mutters her newest nefarious plans to wreak havoc on the world of literature. Actually, she sings rather than mutters. She has a very lovely singing voice, after all.

However nobly and sanctimoniously the Order of St. Goodfic guards the BWO, prison breakouts are, alas, far too common an occurrence, and Mary Sue frequently leads the pack. No amount of good grammar can fight her superhuman physical strength and hypnotic tiger-violet eyes – and she's just so darn pretty it's hard to want to lock her away again. The Order of St. Goodfic must resist the evils of Mary Sue, yea verily!

Once Mary Sue escapes back into the free literary world, she assumes myriad aliases and disguises. Fortunately, the Order of St. Goodfic is trained in the art of detecting and tearing down Mary Sue. It is up to those brave Knights and Dames to cut Mary Sue down to size, and subsequently to command her host (the author) to see the error of his or her ways and repent. It is a thankless job.

One stormy night, three Dames and one Knight of the Order of St. Goodfic burst through the portal to the BWO with a capture. It was all they could do to restrain the girl. She was kicking, biting, and had her arms not been twisted behind her back, she probably would have reached down her pants and thrown excrement. She was the type of girl who would do that.

Three days before, Mary Sue (dressed as Braveheart, but in a sexy way) had led yet another breakout. The results were catastrophic. A pandemic of bad fiction – _badfic_, in Order jargon – had devastated readers worldwide. Hospitals ran out of beds because of the upsurge in injuries sustained from banging the head on the desk. Sporkers looted fiction abandoned in the crisis. Surely, the recapture of Mary Sue would help to restore order and sanity to literature.

Or maybe not.

"Take your filthy hands offa me!" the girl screamed. "I'm telling you, _you've got the wrong Mary Sue!_ That's just my _name_! Ugh, you smell like _sardines_!"

"Nice try, sister. Do you think that we've never heard that one before?" sneered the Knight. It should be noted that all members of the Order of St. Goodfic speak very much like cops in old gangster movies, except of course they use perfect grammar.

"Book her," said the Dame with the sardine breath to the long-suffering BWO clerk.

"How many times do I gotta tell you," the girl named Mary Sue said, which caused the members of the Order to wince, "I'm not this mastermind criminal. Look, it even says so on my driver's license."

She produced a battered-looking cloth wallet whose only form of a clasp was a marijuana leaf sticker. She removed the sticker to show a driver's license, which the clerk immediately inspected.

"Name: Isabella Eloisa Putain," the clerk said in its reedy voice, and began to type up a police report. (The clerk was a reformed ellipsis who had gotten its act together, removed the spaces from in between each period, and stopped inserting itself at every possible interval for dramatic effect.)

"Oh, _damn _it," muttered Mary Sue.

"And you said you weren't Mary Sue," said the second Dame. "That sounds like a Class-A Sue alias to me!"

"You may not begin a sentence with the word 'and,'" the Knight admonished the second Dame.

"Of course I may," the second Dame said. "That's just a silly rule from first grade language arts class."

"Look, I hate to interrupt this fascinating conversation, but that's not me," Mary Sue said loudly. "It's just a fake. So I guess you can fine me for that or whatever, but my name really is Mary Sue and I'd really appreciate it if I could just go the hell home."

"Hair: golden. Eyes: emerald-silver-cat," the clerk read from the driver's license. "We'll need to take a thumbprint. The last set of Sue thumbprints had heart patterns in them, but they tend to change along with the hair and eye color."

"For fuck's sake, does my hair look fucking golden and do my eyes look like _cat eyes_?" Mary Sue said. "It's a _fake ID_. I only have it so I can buy _booze_. The guy who made it for me is just a dumbass. Look, that's not even me in the photo."

"Your excuses are quite amusing, but you've forgotten one thing, Mary Sue," said the Knight. "No human – except for the members of the Order, of course – can survive the passage through the portal. You are no human girl, but a distilled incarnation of the superlative literary evil! What's more, I can prove it. You bear the mark."

"Mark of what?" said Mary Sue. "Trust me, I'm just a girl. Every twenty-eight days I get a friendly reassurance that I am, most definitely, a girl."

"You bear the mark!" crowed the second Dame. "Is your eye not streaked with gold?"

"Why are you dicking with me?"

The members of the Order all peered at Mary Sue's eyes. Mary Sue was particularly aware of the Dame with sardine breath, who leaned in so close Mary Sue could practically see the fish oil in her teeth.

"There it is!" the Knight said, pointing a finger at Mary Sue's right eye. "Haha, you see?"

"Well no, I can't actually look at my own eye," Mary Sue said, and fought back the urge to add _you twat_. "Just listen to me_._ I don't know what literary evil you're looking for, but I'm not it. I don't even read. I don't even read prescription labels."

"Address: 123 Road Avenue, Atlantic City, New Jersey," droned the clerk.

"Wait a minute," the third Dame said suddenly. "Mary Sue can't be from New Jersey. The very odiousness of Mary Sue stems from her perfection. Everything about her is perfect. Perfect appearance, perfect talents, perfectly tragic past. New Jersey doesn't fit the pattern."

"One could argue that coming from New Jersey is a tragic past," said the Knight, but now he looked uncertain.

"No, it's just _dirty_ there," said the third Dame.

"Hey, stop hating on my state," said Mary Sue. She was not actually from New Jersey. The information on the driver's license was absolutely false. But although Mary Sue LaGreca was not blond and ethereally gorgeous, and sang like a dying llama, and took far too many drugs to have a wealth of extra brain cells to rub together, she was an exceptionally good liar.

"Miss Putain, where were you at the time you were apprehended," the clerk asked with such lethargy that a question mark wasn't even warranted.

"I was just chillin at my house. I was going to maybe watch _Wayne's World_ and eat some ice cream, and that's it," said Mary Sue. "No evil plans. And then these crazies came out of nowhere, grabbed me, and now I'm here. Where am I, anyway? Don't I get a phone call?"

"If she's not _the _Mary Sue, but she still made it through the portal alive, and she bears the mark," the third Dame began, "could it be that she is …"

The four members of the Order looked at one another, wide-eyed.

"Could be _what_?" said Mary Sue.

"The Chosen One!" they chorused.

"You are the Chosen One who will deliver us from the evil of Mary Sue!" the Knight said.

"Umm, yeahno," said Mary Sue.

"You cannot fight it. You have been chosen," said the second Dame. "You are the only one who can do battle with her and hope to win! You are the only one who can save us from badfic!"

"I don't even know what that is," said Mary Sue. "Look, you clearly got the wrong person. I'm sorry about this other Mary Sue chick, but I have a pint of Phish Food melting on my kitchen counter and lots of important things to do, so –"

"Defeat Mary Sue, and you will go free," said the third Dame.

It was evident to Mary Sue that whatever this Chosen One thing was, the people in white robes were not going to let her go until she took care of it.

"Fine," she said. "But I want you to pay me back for the Ben and Jerry's."

The Dame with sardine breath waved her hand. "We have much work to do. As we speak, Mary Sue is falsifying papers to escape to one of her many hideouts. You must not let her escape."

"Do we know which fandom she plans to travel to?" the second Dame asked.

The Knight and the other two Dames gasped. _"Never end a sentence with a preposition!"_

"We all know what she meant," said Mary Sue. "Well, not really. What the hell's a fandom?"

"We have just received intelligence that her passport is set for Tulsa, Oklahoma, United States, 1966," the clerk said. Technically it was not cleared for such confidential information, but the ellipsis had cutthroat ambition and it did whatever it would take to make detective inspector in the Bureau. It even put up with its stupid desk job for a shot at the big leagues.

The Knight nodded grimly in response to the information.

"Outsiders," he said.

"Outside of what? And what do you mean, 1966?" Mary Sue said, but the members of the Order had grabbed her once again and were shoving her toward the portal. The Dame with sardine breath shoved some papers into Mary Sue's hands.

"Your papers," she said. "Keep them safe. Godspeed, Chosen One."

"Where the fuck am I go–" Mary Sue shouted, but she was inconveniently cut off by the jump.

For a moment, the four members of the Order stared at the now-empty portal.

"The Chosen One, in our lifetime," said the second Dame.

"I always imagined her as being more attractive," said the Knight. The others agreed, and then went about their Orderly business – that is to say, mutual masturbation.

X X X

Tulsa, 1966. A stunningly beautiful girl with hair like fire in autumn, eyes as blue as the night sky, and a rack as large and perky as an orgy of cantaloupes jumped off of a moving train, rolled once, then stood up and surveyed her surroundings.

"Home sweet home," she said to herself. "Now: which way to Tim's house?"

* * *

N.B.: the irony of writing a "Mary Sues are stupid" fic while completely ignoring all canon characters for the entire first chapter does not escape the author.


	2. Fuck Your Magic Couch

**Chapter Two**

Dallas Winston woke up to the sounds of birds chirping. Dallas, or Dally as he was called by his friends (the term _friend_, to Dallas Winston, was defined as a person he did not want to stab repeatedly, and he wanted to stab a lot of people), squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to go back to sleep. He wished very hard for the birds to either hurry up and head south or freeze to death; he was experiencing the familiar symptoms of what felt like the beginnings of a bad hangover, and noise of any kind was abhorrent to his condition. If it were possible for the nearby burbling fountain to die, Dally would have wished death on it too. It was a chilly morning in late autumn, and sleeping in the park was no Caribbean vacation. Dallas crossed his arms over his chest, shivering.

He sat up suddenly, barked out a curse when he realized just how badly his head throbbed and fell back onto the ground, but his eyes were wide open and he was surveying his surroundings warily. Something was very wrong with this situation. It was not that Dally was hung over. It was not that he had slept in a public place. It certainly was not that he was currently wishing death on somebody or something – he felt like an underachiever if he did not make his daily quota of death wishes. It was that Dally was anywhere, doing anything.

Dallas Winston was alive again.

The last thing he could remember clearly was running from the police after he had robbed that convenience store. Dally looked down and poked his finger through a hole in his leather jacket. His finger went through the jacket and through the hole in his shirt. He had a sickening suspicion that the cops had shot him to death, which most people don't just sleep off. But there was no blood on his clothes; his body had a scar where the bullet had (not?) hit him, but aside from the hangover Dally was perfectly physically intact.

Dallas Winston was pissed. Johnny was dead, and Dally had wanted to die too. And, until just a few minutes ago, he thought he had succeeded.

He summarized his feelings of confusion by saying, "The fuck is goin' on?"

"I agree," said Johnny.

X X X

Mary Sue tumbled out of the portal with an exceptionally ungraceful _thump_. The papers from the Dame flew out of her hands. Ignoring them, she stood up and sniffed. The air smelled different here. Had Mary Sue been the reading type, she would have recognized it as the smell of old library books. As it was, she didn't care. Her ass smarted and the soles of her bare feet were cold.

_If I'm the Chosen One or whatever, those cult members could at least have gotten me some shoes before they grabbed me,_ Mary Sue thought grouchily.

She was standing in the middle of a vacant lot in what promised to be the middle of an extremely sketchy neighborhood. The dumpy houses and weed-ridden yards were surrounded by chain-link fences, and the cars parked in the driveways looked like rusted-out boats. There wasn't a soul in sight, which was probably a good thing. Mary Sue took stock of her situation: instead of being sacked out on her couch, she was in a cold strange place by herself, potentially – hopefully – on drugs, with orders to kill some girl. She decided that the best thing to do would be to just get the hell out of there.

She pulled her iPhone out of her pants pocket but to her annoyance she could not get a signal to use the GPS or make a call. In fact, the screen went black almost instantly and would not turn on again.

"Oh cock," she said crossly. She considered knocking on someone's door and asking to use the phone but decided she wasn't in the mood to get shanked just then.

_The first thing I need to do is get some shoes,_ she thought. Not only was it was cold out, her hammertoes tended to frighten people.

She had no idea which way would lead to a shoe store and which ways would lead to certain death. It was really too bad she didn't look at the papers the Order of St. Goodfic had given her, because they included a map. As Mary Sue was trying (unsuccessfully) to figure out which way was north, it happened that a boy with greasy black hair walked jumpily towards her. He was walking so jumpily he was practically skipping, although it was in a menacing sort of way. There were burn holes in the arms of his denim jean jacket, which Mary Sue decided was either the work of a stupid new trend or a freebasing experiment gone horribly awry. Mary Sue decided that he was probably a crackhead but she decided to risk contact anyway. As long as he didn't have a gun, she could probably take him if it came down to it; he was fairly shrimpy, albeit in a menacing (and jumpy) sort of way.

"Hey," she called, "how do I get out of this place?"

"Ain't as easy as you'd think," he replied.

X X X

Johnny Cade had woken up first. He was mildly surprised to see Dally curled up fast asleep next to him, but mostly his bewilderment stemmed from his surroundings. He wasn't bothered by the cold morning; after years of sleeping outside, he was used to it. His body ached all over, but after the pain of the fire and the falling broken timber, and then the horrible numbness, and then going into shock, and then _dying_, Johnny didn't mind a bit of a chill and a hangover. The grease in his hair had picked up some dirt and leaves from sleeping on the ground and there were several burn holes in his jacket, but he was otherwise just as he had been before the fire.

For a minute, Johnny watched in quiet amusement as Dally twitched his arms and half-barked in his sleep.

He didn't know how he had ended up in the park – at the very fountain where he had killed Bob Sheldon, no less. Then he realized that if he was alive the police would arrest him. He had to get out of there. Johnny tried to move a leg and found that he could.

_So I'm not dead, I'm not paralyzed as far as I can tell … this is weird, _he thought, rather understatedly.

Perhaps everything had been a dream, then. Maybe he hadn't killed Bob after all. It didn't explain the holes in his jacket – there was a huge one on the back – or how he knew he would rock the shit in English class when they read _Gone With the Wind_, but maybe he'd had some other wild night. Drinking, burn marks and improbable exploration of American literature were all fair game during a night at Buck Merril's place.

Dally stirred and cursed.

"The fuck is goin' on?" he said to nobody in particular.

"I agree," Johnny said.

Dally whipped his head around to look at Johnny. His face drained of what meager color it had, matching his tow-blond hair; then he turned bright pink. He looked rather like a livid, sunburned beet.

"_What?"_ he sputtered. "Christ, Johnny, what are you doing here?"

Johnny shrugged and said, "Hey, Dally."

Dally swore again, pushed himself up off the ground, and tore out of the park like he had seen a ghost.

Johnny wanted to get rid of his hangover. He decided the best thing to do would be to go home and see if his parents were still asleep or passed out. If they were, he would get breakfast there. He wanted greasy food. Eggs, maybe, and lots of bacon. If the folks were any kind of conscious, he would go to the Curtises' house to sleep it off.

Johnny was happy to use his legs again, and if the whole thing was a dream, he realized, he hadn't even killed Bob! Generally speaking Johnny did not have a lot to be cheerful about, but on this morning he was not dead, a murderer, or a paraplegic. He half-skipped, half-walked through the East Side neighborhood.

"Hey, how do I get out of this place?" someone asked.

"Ain't as easy as you'd think," Johnny called back merrily. Then he did a double-take.

A girl(?) was standing barefoot in the vacant lot – _Man, are her toes weird-looking!_ he thought – with a scowl on her face. She didn't look like other girls from the East Side. She didn't look like a Soc girl, or for that matter anyone he had ever seen before in his entire life. She had dull brown hair with green streaks in it. Green. It looked like she had used her hair to blow her nose. She was outfitted in a T-shirt with "You Say Tomato, I Say Fuck You!" stamped across the chest and a pair of oddly blotchily-colored pants (Johnny Cade was not up on his tie-dye). Johnny wondered if she was an escaped clown.

"Come on, this whole _Final Fantasy _thing is already stupid enough without cryptic NPCs telling riddles," she said. "Can you just tell me how I get to the bus stop, or a subway or something …?"

Johnny stared politely.

The girl rolled her eyes.

"Fuck your couch," she said, and started to stomp away. She wasn't stomping hard because her feet were bare but Johnny got the point.

"W-wait!" Johnny called. "If you want a couch to stay on, my buddies could let you crash at their place … if you're lost we can figure out where you need to go."

He had no idea why he was volunteering the Curtises' couch to this unattractive, vulgar girl. He just had a gut feeling that the couch would somehow solve all problems. Suddenly aware of the leaves and crap on his head, Johnny fished a comb out of his jean jacket pocket (the comb was slightly melted, presumably from the fire, but Johnny chose to ignore that for the moment) and ran it through his hair to make himself look more presentable.

"Thanks, but I avoid cults and productions of _Grease_ like the plague," she said. "So long, Kenickie."

Johnny only understood about every other word the girl was saying, but for reasons he could not fathom he did not want her to leave. He was painfully shy around girls, but something compelled him to speak up.

"Look, my buddies are good people, but some people around here ain't so good, so you should get inside before you get jumped."

"Why don't you get that you're fucking threatening me?" the girl said. She actually looked kind of scared.

Johnny pulled his switchblade out of his back pocket, dropped it on the ground, and kicked it over to her.

"You've got a blade, I don't," Johnny said. "There's a bus stop two blocks down the street. Good luck with everythin'."

He resisted a weird urge to add, _I love you._

The girl picked up the switchblade. She hesitated and then said, "Okay, fine. Just to use the phone though."

"Okay."

"You and your buddies should know that I'm a black belt and if anyone makes a move on me I'll sweep the leg and … uh, fucking cranekick them to death."

Johnny had no idea what that meant specifically, but he got the point.

"Okay," he said again. "I'm Johnny."

When she didn't introduce herself, Johnny nodded his head in the direction of the Curtises' house and they started walking.

He felt drawn to the strange, hyper-aggressive girl and wanted to help her, and was unsettled by the feeling, especially after his horrible dream; but he was also still hung over and wanted a nap on the magic couch.

X X X

Over by the train tracks, Mary Sue – _the_ Mary Sue, that is – rifled through her bindle (she made it look good) for her current passport.

"Bella Swan? No, that one's expired …" she muttered.

She found the right papers and studied her new alias. This time around, she was a runaway from New York City named Gardenia Vaneska-Katrielle Alexandrova, or "Deen" for short. Per usual, there was a bulleted list of tragedies from her past, as well as another list of abilities she should show off in this particular universe:

- Fighting large groups of armed men and winning  
- Being rude and pushy, but in a charming way  
- Singing anachronistic songs  
- Turning into a cat  
- Blowjobs

Mary Sue, now Deen, read the lists and nodded. She looked at her map and located the neighborhood where the hottest and most brooding characters lived. She had already changed into a sexily tattered tank top, sexily short skirt, and sexily scuffed-up workman's boots.

"It's been so long, and yet no time at all," Deen said. She briefly reminisced about all the trouble she had caused during her past few visits to the world of the Outsiders. Then she started walking.


	3. Mary Sue Meets the Gang

**Chapter Three**

The Curtises' house was beginning to resent the presence of the magic couch.

It attracted a bad crowd. At present, Two-Bit Mathews was sacked out on the couch and snoring like an asthmatic warthog. Not that the Curtises' house didn't love Two-Bit, deep down; but he, along with everyone else who slept there when they were too drunk to go home, tended to punch walls and defecate on the lawn. Not to mention the masses of distressed women who sought refuge from every kind of problem imaginable. (All of the women were actually just Mary Sue in various guises, but the house didn't know about that.) They would lie on the couch, miraculously bounce back from their trauma, and then go upstairs with Sodapop or Dallas Winston for raucous sexual jaunts. The constant banging was beginning to compromise the structural integrity of the building. In fact, the only reason the house still tolerated the magic couch at all was that its magic was the only thing keeping the roof from caving in.

Darry Curtis, of course, knew none of this; nor would he particularly care. Darry's primary interest was coffee. His secondary interest was reading the newspaper. His tertiary interest was flexing his muscles at any given opportunity. Since Darry was considered the leader of his neighborhood's unofficial gang, he had many other obligations to fulfill such as maintaining his cult of personality and plotting to nationalize the East Side; but those weren't so much hobbies as they were ins and outs of creating a fascist state. Darry thought of it as a second job. But coffee was his raison d'être.

That fateful morning he shuffled around the house, looking for the coffee pot. For some reason it could never stay in the kitchen; it would be hidden behind the couch or perched on top of the TV. One time he had even found it buried in a pile of shoes. Two-Bit's snoring barely even registered in Darry's head as he searched high and low for the coffee pot. He finally located it on the stovetop. Had he been the type of person to believe in omens, Darry would have been more than a little unnerved. But he wasn't, and all he did was thank heaven the boys hadn't gotten too rowdy the night before. He remembered what happened one night when Two-Bit had crashed at the Curtises': he ended up knocking over a lamp, passed out on the couch, and tried to spoon with Johnny in his sleep. That is to say, Two-Bit had been sleeping; Johnny had been painfully awake for the whole thing.

Although it had been some time since the trial, Darry still didn't know how to feel when he thought about Johnny and Dally. Even funny or happy memories made something in his chest clench.

So, for the moment, he focused on making coffee. It turned out damned good.

Ponyboy sat down at the kitchen table as Darry was cracking eggs onto a skillet.

"Mornin'," said Darry. "How do you want your eggs?"

_"You never listen to me!"_ Ponyboy shrieked. "I like my eggs hard. I eat my eggs hard every day. How hard is that to remember?"

"Pony, shut your trap!" Darry said. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

Ponyboy looked genuinely alarmed. "I-I don't know. I'm sorry, Darry. I didn't mean it – I'll have 'em how you're having 'em …"

"Make your own," Darry said, stung. Ponyboy meekly dug chocolate cake out of the icebox and began to slice it. He cut an extra-large piece for Darry.

Sodapop wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. "Glory, who's yammerin' so early?"

Darry and Ponyboy exchanged a glance.

"Nobody," Darry said. "Eggs?"

After Sodapop had run out that one night, Darry and Ponyboy had made an extra effort to get along. So far they had done all right. Darry scrambled some eggs – a compromise, since all three brothers liked scrambled eggs well enough – and Soda washed off three plates and three forks. For a few minutes, there was no conversation: the only sounds to be heard were chewing and swallowing, and Two-Bit's volleys of snores.

"I guess I'd better get dressed," Sodapop said, wiping his mouth. "Where'd my uniform go?"

"I'm gonna start my math homework today," Ponyboy said to Darry.

"Good. Don't forget, the social worker's coming Monday afternoon," Darry said. "It should be fine, but there's no reason to chance it."

Just then there was a knock at the door.

No one ever knocked, except for the social worker.

Darry wiped his mouth and went to answer the door.

X X X

Although the Curtises' house was only a minute's walk from the lot, Johnny and Mary Sue took considerably more time. Their progress was hindered by the fact that Mary Sue did not know which house they were going to, but Johnny wouldn't lead the way because he wanted to gaze at her. After spouting many encouraging phrases such as _get your ass into gear, creeper _and the like, Mary Sue finally found herself standing on a slightly saggy porch which was attached to a slightly saggy house. She thought the roof looked like it was going to cave in at any second, but she wasn't concerned about it. It looked like any other frat she had ever been to.

Johnny reached his hand out for the doorknob, but Mary Sue said, "You can't just walk into someone's house."

He shrugged. "The boys always keep the door unlocked in case someone needs to stay there."

"Still, though," Mary Sue said, "invasion of privacy. What if someone's like in the shower, or dicking?"

"Do you always curse like that?"

"Pretty much."

"You'll get in trouble for it."

"Thanks, Henry Higgins, but I don't really need good behavior tips from the guy who kicked a switchblade at me."

Johnny lit up: he finally recognized one of Mary Sue's countless inane pop culture references. He said, "Henry Higgins teaches Eliza Doolittle how to be a lady. That's a good movie."

Mary Sue peered at Johnny's swirled hair and far-too-tight jeans. She wondered if she had been thrown into some bizarre musical theater subculture.

"You're the expert," she told him. She knocked on the door and then took a step back, so that Johnny was between her and the door.

"What are you doin'?" he asked her.

"How do I know that it's not gonna be some dude with a shotgun who answers the door?"

Mary Sue was honestly expecting a man in a dirty wifebeater or a three-legged prostitute wielding a hatchet, and she positioned herself to haul ass out of there if necessary – it would be slightly difficult, since she hadn't physically exerted herself since grade school and her lungs probably had marijuana deposits in them by this point, but she figured the adrenalin rush would power her through. A seriously built guy answered the door. His reaction, though, was far different than what she expected. He blinked a couple of times and then turned pale.

"W-what?" he whispered.

"Mornin', Darry," Johnny said to the guy.

"You're not – this ain't?" Darry said intelligently.

"Can this girl use your phone? She's lost," Johnny said. "Golly, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"_Johnny,"_ Darry said.

Two other boys suddenly appeared on either side of the one called Darry. They appeared equally stunned.

"Hey, guys," Johnny greeted them.

As one, the three guys at the door enveloped Johnny in a crushing hug.

It was a tender moment.

Mary Sue scratched herself. She felt awkward.

"Well, I'm beat," Johnny said. "I slept in the park last night. Could I crash here for a while?"

For the first time, Darry's face cracked into a smile. It looked like he had to think about how exactly to do it.

"Yeah," he said. "Come on in. Though I wouldn't, if I were you. Two-Bit's sleepin' on it now, and he can get a little grabby."

X X X

Back at the BWO, the Order of St. Goodfic was collectively taking a post-coital nap. Only the ellipsis was still awake. It was looking at records of recent portal entries into the Outsiders-verse, hoping to spot a paper trail that would lead to Mary Sue.

It pulled up a passport for one Gardenia Vaneska-Katrielle Alexandrova. A quick cross-check confirmed that the home address did not exist (although really, the fact that it was _403 Traumatic Home Life Boulevard _should have tipped it off). Also, the young woman in the photograph was pretty. Very pretty indeed. The ellipsis suddenly became aware of its middle dot, which had begun to stiffen.

After the ellipsis had calmed down a bit, it attempted to awaken the Knight and Dames from their siesta. Normally just a whispering of the name was enough to snap them out of the deepest slumber – sometimes the ellipsis merely had to think "Mary Sue" very hard in their direction – but for some reason no one stirred.

The ellipsis saw its chance. Singlehandedly capturing Mary Sue would mean a promotion and probably a nice raise to boot.

There was, of course, one small problem: it was just a big ellipsis. Hardly an effective authority figure. But the ellipsis would not let that deter its career. It had watched a few episodes of _Alias_. It had a plan.

X X X

Johnny, Darry, Sodapop (who had forgotten all about going to work), Ponyboy, and a now-awake Two-Bit sat cross-legged in a circle on the living room floor.

"And you just woke up in the park, and Dally was right there too?" Soda asked Johnny.

"Yeah," Johnny said. "I don't know where he ran off to, though."

"This can't be happening," Sodapop said. "I mean …

Johnny said, "I thought it was all just a dream, but …"

"You died," Ponyboy said quietly. "I saw it."

Johnny's back suddenly tingled, right where the broken beam struck him.

"So did Dallas," Darry added. "And we … we buried y'all."

"Don't you think it's a big coincidence that this girl shows up the day we find out Dally and Johnny are … well, things are definitely not normal?" said Darry.

"I yelled at Darry for no reason," Ponyboy said.

"'Cause _that_ never happens," said Two-Bit, and started humming the theme from _The Twilight Zone_.

Mary Sue came into the living room from the kitchen. "Sorry to butt into the Kumbaya sesh, but I think your phone's jacked. Couldn't reach anyone."

"Did you talk to the operator?" Darry asked.

"No, but don't sweat it if you get a few charges for collect calls," Mary Sue said. "I was trying to call my housemates but I kept getting this crazy old dude instead."

She became intensely conscious of the fact that all five boys were staring at her intently. It was like being stared down by a James Dean lookalike contest.

"Okay, like I'm the weirdest-looking one here," she said.

"I'm Darry," said Darry.

"I'm Soda," said Sodapop.

"Two-Bit," said Two-Bit.

"Ponyboy," said Ponyboy.

"And together – we are – _Wyld Stallyns_!" Mary Sue said.

"What … you're new in town, huh," said Two-Bit.

"Yeah."

"So you don't know about what happened to us a couple of months ago?" Ponyboy said.

"Why would I?" Mary Sue said.

"Well, the upshot is, Johnny"–Darry pointed to Johnny, who had been staring moonily at Mary Sue since she had entered the room–"and another guy, Dallas, got killed. And the day you show up, they wake up in the park."

"Cool story, broseph," Mary Sue said, "but I don't really see what I have to do with any of that. Congrats on not being dead."

"Where are you trying to get to?" Sodapop asked her.

For the first time Mary Sue looked uncertain.

"Dunno," she said. "To get shoes, I guess. Then a bus station."

"You don't look like anyone else," Johnny piped up. "You oughtta stay here with us until we can get you a disguise."

"Could you get some clothes from Hattie?" Ponyboy asked Two-Bit.

"She's eleven, her clothes won't fit … what'd ya say your name was?" Two-Bit asked Mary Sue.

"I didn't," she replied. She added loudly, "And I don't need a disguise."

Ponyboy wrinkled his nose. "I think there's some bleach under the sink."

"You guys," Mary Sue said. "It's nice of you to want to play dress-up with me, but."

Several minutes later Mary Sue was sitting in front of the kitchen sink, wearing a white blouse and a skirt that was big enough to prey on other skirts – "Hattie ain't fat, she's just growing!" Two-Bit had protested – and a pair of Ponyboy's old running shoes. Bleach was setting in her hair.

"I guess it's kinda like _My Fair Lady _after all," Johnny offered shyly.

Two-Bit hooted. "Watch out for Johnny. He's a dog!"

Mary Sue muttered something under her breath.

"What's a motherfucking fupa?" Two-Bit asked her curiously.

Back in the living room, Darry and Soda were deep in conversation.

"Okay," said Darry. "First thing we need to do is find Dallas. Second thing we need to do is find out if Bob's alive. If he's not, we're in deep shit."

"Yeah," said Soda. "But … don't you just want to help the girl look pretty?"

Darry looked wistfully at her. She was so wild, so rebellious. She was just the kind of woman he could lead revolutions with. Then he shook himself out of it.

"Soda, something's up with that girl. Now it's pretty obvious she doesn't know what's going on either, so we should keep an eye on her until we find out what's what. We have got to be careful."

Soda nodded seriously. He casually put a hand in his back pocket, checking that he had a Magnum handy.

Some time later, Mary Sue was a bleached blonde. The one called Two-Bit had complimented her new look and she had decided to accept his compliment. She had mostly convinced herself that she had been adopted by some overly dedicated Fonz impersonators, and everything would be okay if she just went along with what they wanted. She had even introduced herself, and they had seemed satisfied by her name.

"So what do we do now?" she asked them.

"We could watch TV," said the pony boy.

"Fine with me, twinkie," Mary Sue told him. She plopped onto the couch and flicked on the set. "Man, this thing's a piece of shit."

Johnny, the pony boy, and Two-Bit all sat uncomfortably close to her. All in all, though, she was pleased that she got to do what she'd planned to do anyway: watch TV and sack out. Then she remembered something.

"Hey," she said to her new friends, "I think I've got some weed in my pants. Wanna smoke a bowl?"


	4. Ellipsis Impersonates the Blues Brothers

Author's notes: In an attempt to finish all the damned works-in-progress I have going on, I'm uploading this story. This chapter's more expository than the previous ones, but hey, whatever keeps things going, right? Also, I have actually met someone who told me to call him Dean, "like James Dean."

**Chapter Four**

Dallas Winston ran until the adrenalin wore off. Then he began to realize he was in a bit of a bad way. Presumably, he thought, he had died, which meant his old man had probably already sold off all his shit for lottery ticket money. On top of that, Buck Merril would not be eager to rehire him at the Slash J, on account of his intense and violent fear of zombies – Buck even slept in his bomb shelter because there he felt most protected from "them sons-of-bitches brain eaters."

So, no place to stay and no money. Dallas decided the best thing to do would be to light out of town, and fast. First, though, he needed to get rid of his hangover.

He surveyed his surroundings for a place to sleep for a while. He had run a good distance away from his neighborhood. Wherever he was, though, was just as run-down as where he'd come from. The only shops without bars over the windows were a drugstore – no good, the pantywaists who worked there probably wouldn't let him get a moment's rest; a secondhand clothing store – same as the drugstore –; and a used furniture store with a dingy front window. Bingo.

He opened the door and cringed when a little bell chimed, announcing his entrance. Fortunately it appeared that no one was working, at least out front. Dally threw himself into a distressingly stained La-Z-Boy and closed his eyes.

"Pardon me, but you can't do that here," said an insufferably dry and reedy voice.

Dally's eyes snapped open. A man in a black suit, black fedora, black necktie, and dark-tinted sunglasses towered over him. Dally recoiled in the recliner.

"Why in blazes not?" he said diplomatically.

"I imagine you feel quite unpleasant right now, Mr. Winston. The jump back from beyond the pale often has nasty side effects, such vampirism, rotting flesh, or occasionally headache and nausea." The man allowed himself a slight smile.

"How the hell do you know my name?" Dally barked. "And who are you?"

"My name is Agent Ellipsis of the BWO," said the man, flashing a badge. "I have reason to believe that a highly dangerous criminal is set to wreak havoc on Tulsa, and you may be involved."

Despite himself Dally felt flattered by the agent's words. He boasted, "I've got a record as long as my w–ell, hang on. I've been lyin low for a while now"– that was an understatement –"so if you want to haul me in you're lookin to finger the wrong guy."

"I think you misunderstand me. Mr. Winston, do you recognize this woman?" Ellipsis pulled out a photo from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

Dally inspected it. He didn't remember her name – Roxy, maybe – but he remembered she had great legs and could inexplicably take on eight Socs at a time and beat them all. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"How about this woman?" Ellipsis handed him another photo.

Dally wrinkled his nose. "She had a flower child name, like Callista Rainbowfeather or some damned thing like that. She made us all talk about our feelings and she cried all the time. I think Soda had dibs on that one."

"Would you say that Miss Rainbowfeather was … tragic?"

"More of a pain in the ass." Dally had a sudden horrible suspicion. "Say … these broads ain't missin, are they?"

"Not exactly," said Ellipsis. "These two women are actually aliases of the same criminal mastermind. Her real name is Mary Sue and she has the capacity to rip worlds apart."

"Women, eh," Dally said sagely.

"Mr. Winston, surely you have realized that you have recently been brought back from the dead. This is no coincidence. When Mary Sue infiltrates a fando–a community, she often tears apart the logic of the universe. All continuity and orientation falls away as she wraps the entire universe around her. Right now, she has already changed the course of events – by reanimating Mr. Cade and you, she has created what we call an 'alternate universe.' Your real world as you know it may be at risk of permanent and total harm." Dally could tell that Ellipsis had practiced this speech very hard.

"So … I really I am back from the dead."

"Yes, Mr. Winston."

"And Johnny's back."

"Yes, Mr. Winston."

Dally pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit up. "Let the broad stay, then. If _I'm _back, and _Johnny's _back, then so what."

"It is vital that you help me track down Mary Sue!" said Ellipsis. Dally detected a note of panic in his voice.

"Mmm, no dice. If I find her, I'll make her myself as a thank you," Dally said, and hopped out of the La-Z-Boy. He felt much rejuvenated after his conversation with the agent.

"Wait!" Ellipsis bleated. Dallas raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Sheldon is still deceased and many of the events that transpired after his death still happened. For example, against your best judgment you helped save several schoolchildren from a burning building–"

"I'll never live that down," Dally muttered, his pale ears flushing magnificently.

"–and you also robbed a grocery store and pulled a gun on several police officers."

Dally realized that he was, in fact, in deep shit.

"Now, if you cooperate with me, I will protect you," Ellipsis continued. "After I recapture Mary Sue, I will find you a new place to live and assign you a new identity. All you need to do is call this number if you notice one Gardenia Vaneska-Katrielle Alexandrova."

"Commie women, eh," Dally said. He accepted Ellipsis's business card. "Hey, wait a minute. If this chick's so dangerous, how come it's only you goin after her? I had half the City fuzz chasin after me, and I'm a JD. The worst damned JD in town, but still."

For the first time the agent looked unsure of himself.

"I, uh …" Ellipsis faltered. "I'm on a mission from God."

Then he bolted.

After a moment, Dally left the furniture store. Evidently this Ellipsis was some sort of religious fanatic, but a deal was a deal. Dally decided the first place he would check would be the Curtises' couch – it seemed like there was a new broad stretched out on it every other week. Before that, however, he wanted to pick up an outfit in the secondhand clothing store. Most of the time he was proud of being a hood, but with every officer in Tulsa gunning for him, he thought it might be best to travel incognito.

X X X

Deen tramped gracefully through the East Side. To her immense delight, a carload of Socs happened to be coming her way as she stood directly in front of the Curtises' house. She took off one of her boots and threw it expertly at the front windshield of the Socs' car. She was disappointed that it didn't actually shatter the glass, but the expression on the Socs' face was a sufficient reward.

The car pulled to a sharp halt. The driver, a boy in a red madras shirt, jumped out.

"What do you think you're doing?" he bellowed. "Someone could have gotten seriously injured!"

"Up yours, Soc filth!" Deen returned gleefully. "Greasers for life!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, everyone," said another Soc who had gotten out of the front passenger seat. "I'm just glad no one got hurt and the car's okay."

The Soc in red madras appeared to count to ten. Then he said, "You're right, Wade. I'm sorry I got so heated."

"It's all right," the one called Wade said. "Let's just hope it won't happen again."

The two boys hugged.

Deen stared at them in disbelief. Socs existed to either beat her up or otherwise force themselves on her. It was the way of things. They didn't have _autonomy. _How could they be so calm in her presence – and, more importantly, how could they pay attention to anyone other than herself?

"What if it _does_?" she hollered, and pulled off her other boot. Swinging it by the laces like a mace ball, she barreled at Red Madras.

"Whoa there!" said Wade, who caught her by the forearms and then released her when Red Madras had had a chance to move away. "We don't want any trouble, but please respect our property."

"And our bodies," added one of the three Socs who had gotten out of the backseat.

At last, Darry Curtis came out of the front door of his house. He was sporting a very fetching cap à la Fidel Castro.

"What's goin on here?" he asked from the porch.

Darry wasn't Deen's first choice but she decided to take what she could get. She yelled, "I'm here to help you win the turf war! Soc scum, get the hell outta here!"

Darry blinked. "_Turf war?_ What in the Sam Hill are you talking about?"

"Darrel! How are you?" Red Madras called out to Darry.

"Oh, hello, Paul," Darry said. "I'm all right. How are you?"

"Not too bad. OU has a long weekend so I came home to catch up with buddies," he said. "Look, I … I can't tell begin to you how sorry I am about that suckerpunch at the rumble."

Darry shrugged. "We were all pretty caught up in it."

He jogged down the porch steps and offered his hand to Paul, who shook it.

Deen gawked at them. She just could not believe what was happening.

At that precise moment, a strange blond girl came out of the house. Johnny Cade, Ponyboy Curtis, and Two-Bit Mathews followed her. They all had glazed expressions on their faces and Two-Bit had a big clump of chocolate cake in his hand.

_Figures, _Deen thought. _That Two-Bit doesn't do anything but drink beer and eat chocolate cake and watch Mickey Mouse on TV._

Then she did a double take. The girl didn't belong here. Not that Deen would ever be so coarse as to say so, but this girl looked like a troll that had been thrown into a vat of Clorox. She looked like a foot fungus. She looked like an ugly version of present-day Melanie Griffith. The Curtis gang was supposed to be a bunch of boys – not a bunch of boys and some unattractive trollop.

_Interloper! _Deen thought, infuriated.

"The bromance continues," said the strange girl. "Who the fuck are youse guys?"

"I'm not tellin any of you jack," Deen said invitingly. Shockingly, no one seemed to notice her.

"Hey, Darrel, why don't you introduce us to your friend?" said Paul.

"This is Paul Holden," Darry said to the blonde. "We were on the football team together in high school."

"Charmed, miss," Paul told her, and performed a ridiculous little bow.

"Whatever," she said. For some reason, this caused Johnny, Ponyboy, and Two-Bit to giggle like overgrown third graders. Paul blushed deeply, but looked pleased with himself.

Wade sniffed the air: "It smells like someone's doin dope."

"Dope? Naw, I stay away from hard shit," said the girl. "We just smoked my pot is all."

"What?" yelped Darry. "You can't do that here! The social worker will haul off Soda and Ponyboy if we get caught with that stuff in our house!"

The blond girl's expression turned so genuinely contrite that Deen felt nauseated. "Whoa, I'm really sorry. I didn't realize. My b., dude."

"No, it's my fault," said Johnny.

"No, it's my fault," said Ponyboy. "I'm sorry, Dar. We'll never do it again."

"No, it's _my_ fault," said Darry. "I…I ought to never have bought the reefer in the first place."

"And I should have never suggested lighting up," Two-Bit said solemnly.

"That doesn't even make any sense! It was _her_!" Deen yelled. "It's _her_ pot! _She _suggested it!"

For the first time the greasers appeared to notice her.

"So … who are you, and why were you trying to stir up trouble?" said Darry, his face hardening.

Deen grinned. Finally she had an opening. Maybe it wouldn't be the magical moment she had become accustomed to, but it would do. She struck a match against the zipper of her leather jacket and lit a cigarette.

"I'm Deen," she said. "My folks named me Gardenia but I'm too rebellious for that. I'm also too rebellious for their strict ways so I ran away and now I'm a she-hood with a heart of gold. Deen's also like James Dean, because he was rebellious and sexy."

"That's a pretty durned complicated explanation for a nickname," said Two-Bit.

"So did you make up your own nickname or what?" Ponyboy piped up. "That's kinda presumptuous."

"Hey, why are you telling us your life story if you didn't want to tell us jack a minute ago?" said the blond girl.

"You lookin for a fight?" Deen demanded.

"No one's fighting," said Wade.

"Yeah, peace and love, man," said the blond girl.

"We'll protect you," Johnny told her.

"Dude, I don't need protecting from this chick," she said.

"But if you did!" Darry said, and adjusted his hat menacingly.

"I – _ugh!_" Deen shrieked. She stomped away, looking every bit like a pissed-off miniature elephant.

"That was unexpected," said Two-Bit. "You want the last piece of cake, Mary Sue?"


End file.
